


Ours

by kkscatnip (autohaptic), riversburn



Series: Ours [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Community: kink_bingo, Condoms, In Public, M/M, Negotiations, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversburn/pseuds/riversburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce's usual after-sex doze kinda looks like sleep, but only until you figure out that somehow he's still watching, and Jason fucking hates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours

Bruce's usual after-sex doze kinda looks like sleep, but only until you figure out that somehow he's still watching, and Jason fucking hates it.

He slips out of bed when he can't stand it anymore, and Bruce's eyes snap open, instantly alert. He frowns to watch Jason go, but they've damn well laid there long enough and Bruce knows Jason has trouble sleeping with other people in bed with him. (And in that ridiculous bed of Bruce's.) 

Not that Jason really knows what it's like to sleep with a normal person, but it was a good excuse to get a room of his own. He needs a place that's his alone, walls and a door and absolutely no fucking, or he'll choke on Bruce, sooner or later; he'll suffocate just from Bruce being so... Bruce. 

Tonight his chest feels tight and his crack is slick with lube when he walks. Happy fuckin' birthday, Jay, you can have anything you want as long as it's my cock. Let me show you how much I care that you're a teenager now by not even having the courtesy God gave a bum to ask how _you_ like it. And it's nothing Jason can ever complain about--not when he knows damn well how much worse it could be--but Bruce spends the days training him never to break and the nights acting like Jason's made of glass, and the whole thing is all so damn stupid that sometimes he needs to get away

The clock chimes the half-hour when Jason gets back to his room, but it ain't late enough yet to get as far away as he needs to be, because sneaking out ain't safe until Bruce is gone. For now, he cleans himself up as best he can, tossing the tissues in the trash can and crawling into his own bed--which is still bigger than it has any right to be, but at least he's alone. 

He curls up and waits for Bruce to leave for patrol.

*

Bruce descends to the Cave around ten but Alfred's still up and walking around. He checks on Jason soon after the next chime of the half-hour and Jason does his best impression of a boy sleepin' peacefully in his stupid room in a stupid house with a stupidly perfect butler checking on him. 

He's got a shit-ton of practice at this point. 

He hears Alfred's door close before too long. Neither of them argues or even asks about Jason sleeping with the door open, which is nice, but it means he's gotta be extra quiet as he creeps out of bed and digs his old clothes out of his bottom drawer. At least the moonlight's familiar, bright enough to see by. 

What would he do if Alfred walked by right now? Probably fake some story about, like, missing his mom, that'd work pretty good. With the way Bruce's parents died, they don't ask much about other dead parents, either. 

Most of his old clothes don't fit him anymore, not with the way he's putting on weight. His biggest jeans, the ones he was keeping around to grow into, don't even need a belt to stay up, which is handy since Jason's old belt fuckin' disintegrated a week ago. It was from wearing it all the time, he knows, but he didn't wanna stop, didn't wanna shed that last remnant, so he just didn't. He refuses to throw the buckle away. Not that anybody's asking, but he's got his arguments ready in case they do.

Bruce gave him a new belt for his birthday. First present he opened, and the only one he really cares about. It's got a couple hidden surprises: a handful of blunted shuriken and a lockpick, plus the belt buckle comes off and slips over his hand like makeshift brass knuckles. He probably can't do much damage with it, but Bruce says he's not gonna give Jason back his switchblade yet--just like he had any right to take it away in the first place--so it ain't like he's got a choice. 

Jason thinks he'd imagine it all being pretty badass if Bruce hadn't started teaching him what decent weapons really look like, but it's too late now, so whatever. Bruce wants him to have kiddie shit, he's going to have kiddie shit. 

He _is_ thirteen, so it makes some sense, but not the kinda sense Jason likes. 

Belt through the buckle and then he's ready to go. He looks around his room at all the stuff Bruce owns, all the things Jason owes him, and can't breathe again. 

Time to go. 

* 

The first time he decided he wanted to do this, Jason spent like half the night trying to come up with a way to get out of Bristol without Bruce or Alfred noticing. It was so obvious when he figured it out, though: just steal a bike. He'd get back before Bruce did, fill 'er up, and get back to bed with Bruce none the wiser. 

It hasn't failed him yet--Bruce still doesn't know, or he wouldn't give Jason kiddie shit to defend himself with--and he's always careful to jog it a mile or so out of the cave, past all the echoes, before firing up the old girl. Tonight's bike is the one he calls Lola, and he wishes Bruce would just give him a bike of his own already but is pretty fuckin' sure that Bruce doesn't want to give Jason a bike until he's like, old enough to drive legally.

All the more reason for Jason to steal one. The way Lola purrs under him tells him he's doing the right thing, too. She likes being ridden, and is always a feisty sweetheart when it comes to handling and he just loves her. Jason's always careful when he hides her, what with it being his job to make sure nobody treats her bad, and ends up walking about half a mile to his usual place. 

He feels himself just unwinding on that walk. Leaving behind Master Jason, who lives in that big ol' mansion and gets waited on by a butler, and becoming Jay again. The one who fends for himself, who doesn't take charity and believes in fair exchange for everything, no matter how hard it is to fulfill his part of the bargain. 

Most of the girls he knows are already out. They're all smiles for him, like always, and don't bother asking where he's been. The only other kid on the block--her name is Candy, and she's thirteen, same as him--waves him over and gives him a hug.

"Damn, Jay, what're they _feeding_ you?" she asks, feeling up his chest a little and giggling when he flexes his pecs for her.

"Just enough," he says, and kisses her cheek before he heads toward the streetlight, so the johns can get a good look at him. 

There's really only one streetlight that's worth a damn in this area, and there's already another boy--obviously older than him, with a little stubble--and two girls under it, chatting with each other in that absent way that people do while waiting. All of them with an eye on the road, of course. 

Home sweet home, Jay thinks, and joins them. 

*

He takes his first customer to an alley one street over, somewhere they won't be interrupted even if the guy gets pushy and Jay needs to beat it out of him. Jay offered him a fuck--Bruce always leaves him feeling good and open for hours, after, and he's got lube in his pocket--but the john's that type who's not quite okay with the idea of buying a prostitute who ain't old enough to shave yet, and he's nervous enough handing over the thirty for a blow. Nervous types are the most dangerous, in Jason's experience, so he's quick about it, drops to sit on his heels so he doesn't end up covered in grime and then rolls a condom on the guy before he starts sucking. 

Blowjobs don't require a lot of thought, not when the guy ain't even six inches, so Jay's mind wanders. He stuffed his jacket pockets with condoms before he got here, but he gave most of 'em out to the other pros on the way to his corner. It's not much, he knows, but it's the only good he can do for them right now. It won't be long before he's Robin and can kick some serious pimp ass, but in the meantime--

The guy's hips jerk, his hands petting at Jason's hair. "You're--so good at this--" 

Of course I am, Jay thinks. He spent most of six months being a (mostly) full-time pro; if he weren't good by now it'd only be 'cause he's got nothing between his ears. Jason might be behind on his schooling, but he's no fuckin' idiot. An idiot could never put one over on the fuckin' Batman, and Jason's fooled Batman lots of times.

"Oh, just--that's good, that's perfect." 

It's like, half of what Jay is capable of. He smiles around the cock in his mouth, pulling off of it, but before he can say anything, there's some fuckin' asshole tapping the guy's shoulder. "Get lost," says the asshole, who looks like the sleaziest pimp in the world--greasy hair, clunky tinted glasses, a tacky plaid suit. There's a match dangling from the corner of his mouth, which makes him look even more fuckin' stupid. But he talks like he expects to be obeyed, and the guy just about shits himself trying to get away. 

Jay's on his feet before the guy's even two steps away, ready to take a swing at this fucker, no matter who he is. No matter if he's huge, maybe bigger than Bruce--and who the fuck is even bigger than Bruce? 

The shithead's clearly somebody, but he just frightened off Jay's john, who'll tell the other johns, who'll completely fucking ruin Jason's plans for feeling better for the night. "What the _fuck_?" 

He chuckles. The asshole chuckles. And even his smirk is sleazy, somehow; every instinct in Jay says to get the fuck away from this fucker right now. "Lemme make it up to ya, puppy." He takes a step closer, and another step, and one more. 

Before Jay realizes it his jacket is scraping the wall behind him. He hadn't meant to back away, knows better than to give up ground like that, but the guy is really that... somethin'. The fucker grins, the lewdest grin Jason's seen in a while, and splays a hand low on Jason's belly, right above where his shirt's halfway tucked into his jeans. He does it just like he's got the right to, casually possessive, and if Jay were really still a pro, he'd cut and run.

But Jay's not a pro, anymore, not really, and Robin doesn't take shit from tough guys in ugly suits.

He cocks his head to the side, doesn't lick his lips, doesn't swallow hard. Makes a conscious choice that he ain't gonna do anything but look from the asshole's hand to his face and say, "You're gonna pay for that." 

"Well sure I am." He rubs his thumb back and forth right over Jason's belly button. "You're a professional, like. You ain't about to give it away free." 

"Damn right," Jay says. The slow slide of the asshole's thumb feels good, good enough that Jay's dick is perking up a little like the fuckin' idiot it is. Later, he thinks. Now ain't the time.

"Mouthy," the fucker says--growls, really, in a fierce but happy tone, and his dark eyes get darker. "I _like_ that." 

As he talks, he pulls up Jay's shirt, untucking it, and hooks two fingers in Jason's waistband. The feel of skin on skin is amazing, and the guy's hands are, like, ridiculously huge. Just like Bruce's. 

The asshole arches an eyebrow, like he's noticing something. "How's your daddy feel about you wearin' your nice things on the street?" 

The belt. Jay does his best to make the breath he takes unnoticeable, and says, "That's his business." He shifts his weight forward, pressing against the fucker a little, not sighing at the heat of his skin through their clothes; the night's crisp for August. "This is mine." 

Naturally, the asshole's gotta have his say. He leans down to where they're so close that it'd be easy to just kiss him, if that was the kind of thing Jay did with johns. But there's no kisses, only a grin from the fucker. "Ours, kid. Ours."

The roughness of his tone, the beginnings of obvious arousal pressed against his stomach do a fuck of a lot for Jason. But he has a job to do; this ain't like Bruce, where there's no beginning or end. "Got anything in mind?" 

The fucker answers without words, rubbing his hand from the front around to the back, never lettin' those two fingers slide out of the waist of Jay's pants. He just lets his hand rest there, looking down at Jason with hooded eyes. "I got plenty in mind for you."

Jason has no doubt about that. "Ain't sellin' _plenty_. Gimme specifics."

That chuckle is back, low and amused like he either expect or didn't expect this from Jay. "I want to leave bruises." 

"No," Jason says at the same time that his prick thinks that yes is a really fuckin' good idea. Bruce will see the bruises and _know_. He'll get caught and from now on have to spend the nights he can't breathe jacking off in his room.

"Then I wanna fuck that sweet lil' ass of yours," the fucker says, low and dangerous. "Ain't gonna deny me that, are ya, punk?" He shoves his hand down the back of Jason's pants, possessive and pushy, the same way he splayed his hand over Jay's stomach.

Jay doesn't break the shithead's arm, even though he can think of three ways to do it off the top of his head. He lets his eyes slide close for a moment and sighs, then grabs the asshole's arm. "Money first," he growls. "A hundred for the fuck, and fifty for scarin' off the other john. He's gonna tell the others." There's no doubt in Jason's mind that this one can afford it. 

Still, the asshole's eyebrows go up and he looks incredulous. 

"Call it an asshole tax," Jason adds, just because he can. The fucker did say that he liked 'em mouthy.

"Kid, ya sure as shit better be worth that kinda money." The fucker's fingers press against Jason's entrance, like a threat, two of those huge sausage fingers at once.

Jason squeezes his arm, thumbs digging into tendons on the inside of his elbow. "If you don't pay me, you ain't never gonna find out, are you?" He sounds so much more street than he normally does, but the fucker's just bringing it out in Jason with that accent of his.

He pulls his hand out of Jason's jeans, takes out his wallet and acts like he's doin' Jay some kinda huge favor when he forks over three fifties. The permanent little smirk on his face gets a little more obvious. "Got any other outrageous requests, princess?" 

"Nah." Jason flashes a smile, folding the money as flat as he can and then rolling down into a crouch so he can stuff it into his left sock. Big bills on the left, small bills on the right. "How do you want me?"

"Oh, princess is cooperative now she got herself paid," the asshole purrs, splaying his hand on Jason's stomach again, watching Jay with this single-minded intensity that's a little fuckin' scary and a lot hot as fuck. "Turn around; just like this is fuckin' beautiful." 

Jay turns around wordlessly, and while the spin would've knocked almost anybody else off-balance, the fucker doesn't budge and keeps his hand right where it is. He hooks his fingers in Jay's waistband again, and Jay refuses to shiver for the touch, refuses to let his breath stutter and catch. "Condom," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of the extra-large ones. This fucker just looks like an extra-large kinda guy.

"Smart," he says, and Jason feels a surge of adrenaline as that other big, hard hand comes up around his throat. But the fucker doesn't try to choke him, just pushes his head back so that Jason's pretty much looking at the leer to end all leers from upside-down. "I like that." 

Jason narrows his eyes and thinks about telling him to go fuck himself, but that ain't exactly smart thinking in this position. So he takes a chance and reaches into his other pocket and hands back a packet of lube. 

The john lets go of Jay's throat, and--yeah, that's another purr. " _Real_ smart."

Jason knows he's on the clock now, so he hurries to unbuckle his jeans, cursing softly when the stiff new leather catches on the more exciting features of the buckle. The asshole yanks impatiently on Jay's jeans and that just makes it worse, undoing one of the catches holding the fuckin' thing together.

Shit, he can't let the fucker see. "Hold on," he says, trying to think past the pull on his hips and how much his fuckin' dick likes it. He has to reattach the buckle before he can unfasten it, but unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans goes much smoother, and Jason nods at the wall, shifting so his ass is easier to access, pushing back into the fucker's hands. "Okay. Now go."

This time, the yank drags down Jay's pants and underwear all at once. His jeans slide right down to his knees easily, but his underwear catch on his hard cock in the front. Jason gives a low whimper without meaning to. 

Behind him, the asshole chuckles again, and pushes two slick fingers into Jay like he knows Jay's just ready for it. Jay lets his forehead rest against the wall--old brick, not as hard and uncomfortable as new brick. No sharp edges, at least. He bites his lip, too, since he ain't exactly keen on making a bunch of noise in this part of town. 

"Already been fucked once tonight, ain't ya?" The asshole pushes deep and spreads his fingers, rubs on Jason a little with his knuckles, and it's enough to make him grind his teeth against how fucking good it feels. The fucker just keeps laughing. "Thought so. Not supposed to like it, but ya do, don't ya?" 

If the asshole can't read the tension in Jay's shoulders, fuck him. He pushes back against that hand and growls a short, sharp, "Get on with it." 

"Anything you say, kid," the john says, and he pushes his cock in with one finger still inside of Jason, stretching him, holding him open. 

Jason takes deep breaths through his mouth, trying so fuckin' hard not to make 'em gasps and not quite managing. It feels good. Better than Bruce's cock.

The fucker closes his hands around Jason's hips and Jason's eyes flutter shut. This is the only thing Bruce does right, some nights, big fuckin' hands holding him still, but this isn't Bruce and that means it's _better._ His cock doesn't feel quite as big as Bruce's, but what he's got is working just fine.

Jason pushes back against him, clenching up tight, and the fucker's fingers dig in a little tighter, a little harder. Jason's underwear rub back and forth as the fucker starts to thrust, and he has to duck his head again, clench his hands into fists and bite his lip and not make a single goddamn sound. He ain't about to invite anybody else to the party. 

The asshole grips almost hard enough to leave bruises, but not quite. He shifts his grip a lot, almost restless, like Jay's ass drives him off the deep end and he can't hold still. "Yeah," he says, and hisses out a wordless noise. "Fuck, yes, princess, your ass-- _worth_ the money. Fuck." 

As the asshole keeps fucking him, Jason slips into the place where his muscles relax more, where he gets into it, since he's fairly sure this guy isn't gonna go nuts. He's okay with the fact he pays for a teenage boy's ass; he's okay with his fuckin' perversion. 

With each thrust, Jason's hips get closer to the wall, and he pushes back, but the fucker's stronger, and he's wanting to be pressed against it, doesn't care how much it hurts. 

And the fucker doesn't stop moving his hands, groping and gripping and even pulling Jason's underwear out of the way so he can squeeze Jay's cock once. He doesn't come from that, determined that he ain't gonna come so easy, but it's a near thing, and he spends a few long moments gasping for breath before the fucker resumes his pace. In and out. Fuck, it's good. Too good. Fuck. 

"Yeah, that's it. So pretty, ain't ya? Such a pretty fuckin'--fuckin'--"

Then all at once the fucker starts to really slam Jay's hips forward, really push him toward the wall, and Jason knows he can't hold out if the fucker touches his cock again, knows that he's on that edge. 

All the force Bruce never uses, all the danger Bruce can't produce. All the things Jason's not supposed to do anymore. He clenches his hands harder, fingernails digging into his palms. 

Thrust, thrust, and Jason's cock barely brushes the wall, he yelps at the sudden contact. On the next thrust he's pressed against the wall with what's gotta be all this asshole's strength, the grit of the bricks and the pressure and that _cock_ still fucking him. 

He drops one hand to cover himself, to get between his cock and the wall, and the fucker growls, "Yeah, do it, kid. Come on my cock. Come on my fuckin' cock." 

Jason can't keep himself from coming, not from the first second his fingers touch his dick, but at least he can bite back the sounds, hold in all but a strangled grunt as he shoots his last and his knees go a little weak.

He doesn't end up on the ground; the fucker holds him up. And maybe he was waiting for Jason or maybe he was just that close, 'cause as soon as Jason's through coming, the asshole just fuckin' picks him up and hauls him back against his hips, burying himself so far inside that Jason can almost feel the asshole's cock pressing against his stomach from behind. 

"Yes," is all the fucker says, growling it against Jay's hair. Over and over, through the pulse and shudder when he shoots off, just--yes, yes. Yes. And then finally, a smug, satisfied "Fuck," as he lowers Jason, as his cock slides out.

Jay's ass hurts in the kinda way that's gonna let him know he got a good hard fuck for the next day or so. He gets a glimpse over his shoulder of that mostly-hard cock and the amount of semen inside the condom is just. What _is_ this guy? But he doesn't want to touch it, so he doesn't, instead leaning his head against the brick wall while he uses the hankie in his back pocket to clean himself up. He puts himself back together: pulls up his underwear, his jeans, and manages to buckle his belt with just a little bit of grace. Not much, but enough, for now. 

The fucker brushes his hand through Jason's hair, and Jason really hopes that was his clean hand. "Nice doin' business with ya, puppy," he says. 

"I'll take your money anytime," Jason says, turning around and looking at the guy. So fucking huge. "Just don't 'spect me to be here regular or anything." He doesn't sneak out more than once a week, and usually not even that much. 

But the asshole just grins and reminds Jason why his nickname in Jason's head is the asshole. "Got it, pup." 

*

Jason stays to check on Candy and slips one of the fifties into her purse while she's not looking. She ain't gonna know where it came from, but Jason doesn't mind that part so much. 

He gives a blow job to some guy who's brave enough to ask for it, but he wasn't lying about the fucker scaring off all his customers. It's not like he needs the money, though, and it's not like they won't have forgotten by the next time he comes around, so he finds it hard to give a fuck. Mostly he just wants to go home and sleep, and around one, he does. Has to get back in time for the bike to cool off. 

Bruce ain't home when Jason gets in; the suit isn't in the case. He takes the stairs slowly, and only barely manages to strip off his clothes before he falls into bed. Not that it matters. 

Jason can breathe again, and that's all he ever really wants from his nights out.


End file.
